


Take my hand in yours

by mangledmann



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Amputation, Amputation Kink, Bottom Nero (Devil May Cry), Cameras, Gentle Sex, Intersex Nero (Devil May Cry), M/M, NERO GOT A PUSSY, Obsessive Behavior, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Video, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Vergil (Devil May Cry), Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, Trans Nero (Devil May Cry), Vergil shows his love in fucked up ways, calorie counting? but only mentioned in passing, didnt expect that one did ya, eventually, lowkey wanna write more, maybe? - Freeform, might make this a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangledmann/pseuds/mangledmann
Summary: Preserved in time and nullifying any healing effect his demon could have – though still prevented atrophy. Why was there any need to allow Nero to continue changing when the process had already resulted in perfection? Thus, after his legs had been removed, they healed at the rate of a human's. Slow, sure, but Vergil made sure they had time in their day to tend the wounds. Nero did not need legs if all he used them for was running towards danger.-Vergil removed his son's limbs after an incident sent him spiralling into worry. A glimpse into their morning routine.
Relationships: Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Take my hand in yours

Saxe eyes, intense and brilliantly elegant, squinted down at the display held in one hand, amused. To their south, lofty and royal cheeks supported a curious-bordering-wry smile, a small glint of teeth beneath dramatic lips. Vergil's time in the Underworld had been long enough for his actual home to progress two decades technologically. Leaps and bounds in medicine, computers, and the sciences resulted in something a device that fit in his pocket able record footage of his darling, priceless son. Wonderful.

Not that Nero was far away; his head was occupying a spot on his father's thigh clad in a pair of patterned, cotton-brushed pyjama bottoms. Eyes shut and worn face lax, freshly washed with his skin smelling of peppermint. Contact like this would have Vergil worked up normally, alas, Nero had to sleep for another twenty-two minutes, else he would not be rested enough.

Fretting over such things were how he spent the time whilst Nero’s consciousness was dead to the world. Half-hunched over and watching his son’s face for any change in sleeping pattern or disturbances; it drove Vergil into a fit of vehemence when he saw his son’s brow furrow from nightmares that warbled, howled and scrabbled for attention. Intangible terrors that Vergil, in spite of the fact, vowed to relieve his darling of.

An ex-ruler of hell, and yet the haggard gasps that came with thoughts of losing his Nero were comparable in frequency to the time he had driven the Yamato through his heart. Not making any more contact with Nero other than the cheek on his leg - Vergil brewed in a malicious storm and turmoil as he worried over how Nero’s back lay whilst he slept; how his neck was vulnerable and stretched out; was the downpour outside triggering the boy’s anxious grimace?

The last thing Vergil wanted was for their schedule to be upset. Meticulously, he tallied everything up - calories, exercise, hours of rest, when he had last bathed his son. All in check. Then, there was the temperature of the room, its humidity, how much light Nero got, and the amount of time they spent together. It worked like a well-greased machine, and Vergil would damn anyone who upset his smoothly crafted clockwork.

And it was why such technology had let him dabble in his fantasies _and_ keep to the strict timetable. He let his pale, unearthly eyes settle back upon the screen, its light the only source in the room. It outlined his jaw in cool tones and cascaded down his nude chest whilst he resumed the footage. Nero’s lidded, mellow gaze was looking up into the camera - a half-pleading expression that never failed to bring Vergil’s chest tight. His dear, sweetheart boy, with eyes only for his father.

On the display, Nero was sat down; short stumps of his bandage-wrapped thighs digging into the mattress as he tried to back down onto a toy his father had wedged beneath him. Try as he might, achieving a position that would give his tired body a break was difficult. Vergil was calculating and had made sure to pick a toy that would make Nero squirm. If he leaned to the apex of his thighs, the amputee could only pull the toy halfway out - forcing the spade-shaped head to bump his g-spot and his thighs to tremble. Sliding fully down was not much easier; the base was grooved with raised textures to achieve the same effect, the tapered tip uncomfortably nudging his cervix and making him quiver.

It was rare he recorded his own penetration of Nero, preferring to take all his focus to mark the boy up good and proper when he was sheathed inside, but if it was foreplay and preparation? Vergil saw no harm in letting himself film their sessions, especially if he had given Nero an instruction, and the boy _knew_ to be obedient. He had started to cry from frustration, deep lazuline eyes growing glassy and flickering from staring at the camera, to just above. Begging, to begin with, until sparks of anger flew behind them, impatient and annoyed that he could not win. Vergil knew this act off by heart and found it endearing. Nero’s behaviour was emblazoned upon his memory, and he could pinpoint the exact moment Nero would always submit down to his father, bear his throat, and keen.

That very scene came next, with Nero falling back against the mattress - the accompanying rustle of bedlinen silenced due to the phone being muted. Captured on video, his pallid skin, scarred in some places, was now well cared for and moisturised into being supple and soft. Even so, the scars made Vergil livid that any creature had been able to lay its talons upon Nero before he could. Limbless, he squirmed upon the bed until the toy fell from his twitching pussy with a slick noise. It took the devil hunter a few minutes to then roll onto his front, no longer having an arm to anchor himself with.

A flowery motif was etched around one of his thighs - colourless, in plain black ink, a blend of roses, carnations, lilies, and thistles - Vergil's only addition to his son's now perfect body. It kept him that way. Preserved in time and nullifying any healing effect his demon could have – though still prevented atrophy. Why was there any need to allow Nero to continue changing when the process had already resulted in perfection? Thus, after his legs had been removed, they healed at the rate of a human's. Slow, sure, but Vergil made sure they had time in their day to tend the wounds. Nero did not need legs if all he used them for was running towards danger.

Drinking in the view from how it was displayed on pixels, Vergil allowed himself another glance down at Nero, able to see the man's body from head to removed toe. Blankets were unnecessary and only denied him viewing what was his. The room's temperature was perfectly controlled for Nero. Still, yearn as he may, Vergil did not permit himself to touch or make noise - not until it was time for it, anyway. Thirteen minutes and then he could revel in his gluttony.

A slight motion on the screen brought him back. Nero had been attempting to sit up, propped up on arms severed above the elbow. A hand - his own - was forcing his son back down onto the bed, and he recalled what he had ordered. He wanted a display... unless Nero wished to achieve his finish atop the toy. Nero slowly spread his thighs to the best of his ability, a set of flushed and satin lips greeting Vergil, slightly parted from the intrusion. Then, using his delightful little abdominal muscles, Nero ground his clit against the bedlinen below, scowling over his shoulder. It was not enough, and his father knew.

His silver knit brows were furrowed in an ire that Vergil knew would melt away. The boy was forever tetchy and grouchy. The half-gloved hand returned, pulling a semi-muscled, yet plump cheek aside to reveal more of his son’s needy vagina. Delicious. Just above it, his asshole winked from being exposed, and Vergil was tempted to treat Nero to his tongue, but that involved putting the camera down. No way in hell. Instead, he removed the glove and rewarded Nero with a pair of fingers, parting warm, flushed labia to then gently delve in.

Vergil was never one to describe things as heavenly – having already suffered through the worst things the Underworld had to offer, and inflict them in equal measure – but this? Nero sprawled afore him, gasping and craving more - not because the hilted fingers were any bigger than his toy, but due to _who_ owned them. Judging by the way the tips of Nero’s ears turned a healthy colour, Vergil remembered that he must have been spewing praise upon the boy – only a handful out of the many that left his lips. Rotating his wrist, Vergil had scooped his fingers back, Nero’s head hitting the mattress, lips moving in a plea. It had fallen on sympathetic ears, as the camera promptly shut off.

Exiting out of viewing, he arched his eyebrow when a notification bar at the bottom got his attention. With another tap, he opened it up to see that the video had received a few comments, complementing Nero, or declaring how lucky the man behind the camera was. Vergil blinked as his smug smile returned, looking down to his treasure curled up in bed, pale ribcage moving with every breath. This was not fortune. He had orchestrated every single event leading up to this point and would continue to do so.

Dante had suggested pornography sites to Vergil when the older brother began prowling the offices in a fit of pent-up rage, sexual frustration and a poorly cloaked short temper. Plates had been smashed, doors broken in half and tables torched. During such outbursts, Vergil remained semi-triggered, with hammerhead horns forming a regal crest over his temples, and his plated tail swinging behind him. Hell, he had practically lunged at Dante when the man mentioned his brother’s claws had been tearing up the floors in Devil May Cry.

Vergil had refused to touch any sort of filthy magazines, though finally, he had been convinced to at least try looking at videos online, or even hiring an escort – to try and sort whatever had got him so high-strung. Evidently, his demon had sensed something he had not foreseen.

Of course, that conversation had been before Nero had landed in Vergil’s hands, pummelled, bruised, and haemorrhaging so badly that even his demon was struggling to stem the blood. Nero could not protect himself, nor could his demon. Vergil swallowed, an intense simmer settling in his eyes as he directed his wrath to the rain outside. It was his duty to protect his kin, his trophy, his favourite. At the thought of Nero coming to harm, the hand not cradling the phone with a dimmed screen clenched. Yet, he ignored the Yamato’s phantom presence at his fingertips – not wishing to summon the blade forth.

Fabric on his thigh shifted, and Nero’s eyelashes fluttered open; thick strands of the rarest ivory shifting against his cheeks while his breathing picked up into a conscious pace. Checking the time, Vergil felt fondness overwhelm him. Even Nero had gotten used to his routine now – it was tailor-made to his requirements, after all. Cooing as he bent down, Vergil _finally_ allowed himself to stroke along Nero’s scalp, the noise deepening into a chest-reverberated rumble after a few seconds. Safe and awake. A stifled noise escaped Nero as he nudged his nose forward, not quite bumping his cheek against Vergil’s groin.

Ah… It made him swell with pride to see his son aware of what came in sequence in their timetable. Four-hundred and eighty-two minutes of sleep was always chased by gentle morning activities in bed to help him wake up. Normally, it was a soothing fuck with Nero resting against Vergil’s chest whilst his father worked him open. It helped pacify Vergil out of the possessive episodes that overtook him in the long night, able to lightly scratch his claim onto his son’s neck and collar. Today would be no different to its predecessors or successors.

Pressing warm lips to Nero’s forehead, Vergil smiled when mumbled words reminiscent of a _good morning_ greeted him in a groggy voice. As Nero attempted to tilt his head up into the kiss, Vergil lifted the boy, so they were sat chest-to-chest, a tired smile upon Nero’s face. An arm rested on Vergil’s collarbone whilst he indulged in Nero’s curved lips, thighs trying to position themselves without their lower legs.

Their kissing remained light and tender; the occasional brush of lips; a peck to the corner of the mouth; a short connection between them both, while Vergil’s hands supported his son’s backside. Nero’s pink tongue ran over his lips busily as he tried to rub his hips forth, not given much leverage when plastered against Vergil’s chest, and stripped of his limbs.

He whined high in the back of his throat, butting his father’s cheek with his own in a quiet plea. Vergil smiled to himself, satisfied that his son was protected. Allowing one finger to drift between their bodies, he lightly scratched his nails over Nero’s lower abdomen, earning a shiver from the boy.

“Good boy.” Vergil praised the neck exposed for him, pressing another kiss against the throat. He did not bother asking if his son slept well – he knew the answer he’d get, and the actual truth. Letting another hand ghost over Nero’s back, Vergil lightly felt over loose shoulder blades, purring at the muscle beneath his fingertips.

Continuing with the stroking over Nero’s stomach with one hand, he begun at the sternum with his thumb, and rubbed down to the man’s navel, repeating the process. Vergil’s other hand met his son’s labia, the thighs straddling his hips giving him access. A faint noise left Nero as a finger lightly breached the tight band at the entrance of his lips, Vergil’s knuckle gliding home. Bringing his wrist further forwards, Vergil lightly traced over the hood of Nero’s clit with his thumb, Nero mumbling something unintelligible into his neck.

Vergil turned his cheek to the left, pressing another rewarding kiss to the section of neck just below Nero’s ear and jaw. The smaller trembled at that, pushing closer to the contact against his stomach. Drawing the finger out, Vergil delicately toyed with Nero’s slit, letting the pad of his finger part moistened labia.

“Nh.” Nero protested wordlessly, shunting his hips back. If he had knees, he would be raising his ass further into the air. Vergil took his sweet time on mornings, even when Nero woke up practically grinding the sheets.

Purring again to soothe his son, Vergil re-entered him with two fingers and moved his free hand up, along scarred pectorals, and down Nero’s ribcage – finding home against a hipbone. His kisses started to have teeth in them as Nero’s hips rocked back with every withdrawal of Vergil’s fingers. Not enough to break skin, but to flower Nero’s jaw and neck in rose, fussing over the boy now he was conscious.

If the frustrated pants and bleats from Nero weren’t tell-tale signs of his arousal, then the puffed clit under his thumb certainly was. Vergil didn’t apply much pressure, simply swiping the digit across and around. Painfully aware of how Nero’s insides hugged the other two fingers, he chuckled when a slick noise met both pairs of ears.

“Eager this morning…” He commented, separating his fingers until the entrance was pulled tight around them. “Good, good darling boy… doing so well, aren’t you?”

Most of Vergil’s questions during sex remained rhetorical, as Nero was too caught up in the motions, or sinking his blunt human teeth into his father’s shoulder or the pillows. Regardless, Vergil loved to shower Nero in praise in mornings, enjoying the boy’s nonverbal response.

Removing his fingers, Vergil looked down at his kin, bringing the fingers to his mouth and licking the moisture away. Warm and slightly musky with the undertone of his Nero. The same hand then pulled his waistband down with a smooth motion, steadying his son with the other. Vergil detested underwear, and in moments like this, it was a blessing. Pressed to his thigh, his cock was half-hard from toying with Nero. With his pyjamas low enough, Vergil pulled himself out, his lower abdomen speckled with sparse grey hairs.

Firmly, Vergil then pumped himself a few times, Nero impatiently trying to rut his own abs against the exposed dick – thick with foreskin still hugging the bottom of his glans. Desperately, Nero tried to part his legs some more – struggling. Vergil scraped his teeth across Nero’s jawline with a grunt, hoisting the lad’s thigh up so he could drop his back further down against the headboard.

They met as Vergil pushed his cockhead between Nero’s lips, a familiar tightness greeting him. Rather than thrusting up, he then allowed both hands to take the globes of Nero’s ass, checking his son’s face for any discomfort. Being greeted with Nero’s mouth, reddened from being worried with teeth, and pleading eyes, Vergil crooned.

A low, moderated groan left Vergil’s throat as he pulled Nero halfway down. Silken warmth hugged his cock like nothing else on the planet, and his nails dug crescent moons into Nero’s ass. Grazing his son’s g-spot, the feeling was reciprocated, judging by Nero’s breaths increasing to wet huffs.

What a precious, tame little thing Nero was. Vergil let the remainder of himself slide in, Nero’s labia pressed to the base of his cock. Around him, the boy clenched periodically to get used to being speared open again. With Vergil supporting him though, it was always miles better than the unforgiving, inflexible toy that drove home the reminder of how helpless he was.

A rock of his hands tested the resistance, before slowly starting to help Nero tilt his hips back and forth. Vergil was aware no Gods shone down upon them (benevolently, at least) and yet, he was convinced that the chance his son’s pussy could fit and mould to him so well was minute. How grateful he was for that tiny percentage.

Pulling Nero halfway off, Vergil let gravity slide the hunter back down; a moan escaping both parties this time as Nero gave way. His body shook as he was repeatedly brought down upon his father’s cock, face and neck tinted with colour.

“That’s it- “Vergil praised yet again, feeling Nero writhe against him. “Hush, hu-ush, keep being good for me, Nero…” A firm thrust downwards coupled with a circular motion had Nero short of breath, and Vergil’s eyes flickering shut.

One hand came back sandwiched between them, seeking out Nero’s clit with wilder movements. Nero was always impossibly wet and tight inside, and the feeling of his abdomen straining as he tried to sit up and kiss his father was divine. Appeasing the boy, Vergil allowed moist lips to bump against his own, though there was barely any rhythm or lead – both were too far gone.

He knew the angle he found was successfully hitting Nero’s favourite spot, given how arms flailed against his shoulders. Not to mention, most of Nero’s efforts had gone into humping his father’s hand – two of Vergil’s fingers feeling along their connection.

Nero’s spine arched as he hissed and chanted Vergil’s name, tightly clenched around the cock that gave him life. “Verh – gil… Verg- faaaah-ther…” He cooed out, the impulse to press his thighs together overwhelming, Vergil’s body preventing him from doing so. A few more thrusts would have had Nero teetering on the border of oversensitivity, so he was thankful when Vergil’s hips stilled.

An affection-laced bite to his neck and a snarl announced Vergil’s orgasm, his balls drawing tight against his body. Painting Nero’s insides white as he came, Vergil’s hands fretted over the slender curve of Nero’s hips, waiting for his son to come down off his high. A lulled groan announced Nero being aware again, lashes tickling Vergil’s cheek.

About to bring his hand to Vergil’s face, Nero soon stopped – realising the limb ended prematurely. Vergil brought a hand up to cradle the crown of Nero’s head. “Do not fuss…” He murmured in a low, assuasive note.

When Nero stopped struggling, he was rewarded with a ghost of lips against the corner of his eyes. He was safe here, and did not need his limbs for anything when Vergil dedicated his life to care and watch over him – right?

**Author's Note:**

> well this is my first proper fic and trust it to be fucked up dmc fatherson fucking  
> un-beta'd and im not used to dialogue, so it likely appears stiff  
> inspired by minicooly on twt
> 
> i really want to finish/continue this? getting into the mindset of a possessive and paranoid vergil is interesting to write from, and its just fun to write  
> im more than happy to discuss stuff regarding this fic as i have too many ideas i wanted to add upon finishing but leaving it on a good place to tie up here


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